Who's Healing Who?
by Katuriin
Summary: Badboy!Blaine AU; Blaine gets into a fight at school and, after landing a kid in the hospital, is sentenced to community service as a candy striper to avoid juvenile detention. It is there that he meets a boy, though terminally ill, that is radiating with courage and life. KLAINE
1. Prologue

I do not own Glee. Glee is property of Fox and Ryan Murphy.

Also on my Scarves and Coffee and Livejournal.

My tumblr is Katuriin.

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Prologue

"Son, you can't smoke in here-" a woman began, speaking to a curly, dark-haired boy as he was entering the station. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket; the other was holding a freshly lit cigarette to his lips.

The jacket he wore was clearly old and worn- the elbows having visible creases and a small tear here and there. "Screw off, lady," the boy mumbled to her, but all the same snuffed out his cigarette. Afterwards, he simply tossed the still slightly smoking object onto the ground and walked away from it without looking back.

The short-framed boy was being lead in by what appeared to be his father. His father was much taller than him, gray already peppering his short, dark hair as well as his facial hair that was a little more than scruff at the moment. His father's jaw was set with both hands shoved into his jeans and he looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

His father and the boy were quiet the rest of the walk to their destination- stopping only when they came to a door. "Go on, then," he father said with an exasperated sigh, "Let's get this over with."

The boy shrugged and opened the door, greeted by a heavier set man at the desk, eyes rising from reading a file on his desk as the two entered. "Have a seat," he invited, even though his tone was far from inviting.

Both did as they were told, the younger of the two slouching as he did. The man behind the desk, Mr. Jonathan Harris as the nameplate read, examined the boy with narrowed eyes. He could see faded bruising across his facial features, a light green color still surrounding his left eye. He glanced down at the file for a moment longer before placing it to the side and leaning forward on his desk, "Blaine Anderson, I assume?" he asked in an uninterested voice.

When the boy didn't even bat an eye to the question, his father groaned, "Yes. Blaine Anderson. And I'm his father, David Anderson."

Mr. Harris looked over at David with a small nod of thanks before looking back to Blaine; "It is my understanding, Blaine, that you landed a ninth grader in the hospital after shoving him countless times into a locker. The only reason you didn't cause that kid more damage is because some of the football players got involved. Is that true?"

Blaine showed his first hint that he was actually listening to the man at all, frowning deeply, "If those fuckers hadn't caught me off guard, I could've kicked their asses too."

"Blaine- don't use that language!" his father snapped, but Blaine merely shrugged.

"You do understand that if you were a year older, you could be serving jail time?" the man asked him. Blaine went back to not responding. The man groaned, "Son, I've only got two choices. I could send you to juvie -which will make a big black mark on your record that you really don't want- or I could sign you up for community service. The Candy Stripers always need new volunteers."

Blaine showed signs of life again, "Fucking Candy Stripers? Going around the hospital to sick kids, telling them how everything's going to rainbows and butterflies? Fuck that shit."

His father rolled his eyes; "You don't have the last word in this, Blaine. I do. I'm still your father and you're still a minor. I will not have my son sent off to juvie." As Blaine gave his father a sharp look, Mr. Harris was already digging out some paperwork.

"I'm not spending three hours of my day at a hospital trying to comfort sick kids. It'll be like being stuck in the middle of a fucking St. Jude's commercial. Fucking Sarah McLachlan music playing wherever I go." Neither of the grown men in the room knew what he was talking about enough to correct him about him having his commercials wrong.

"My say," his father reminded him as he leaned forward to sigh the papers, Blaine sulking further into his seat. If you looked close enough, you could see the steam leaving his ears from his obvious fuming.

-/-

_Blaine was so through with this day. He was ready to split and skip his last two periods- maybe have a smoke under the bleachers before he left. Besides, he couldn't get home too soon or his dad would know he skipped class and that was another three-hour rant he didn't want to hear again._

_He was already digging in his pocket for his lighter when he heard it. "Faggot." It was murmured- but still loud enough that he knew it was meant for him to hear it. His head snapped towards the source of the slur. It was a ninth grader. He didn't know his name but he was one of the new kids on the football team who let the new found popularity go to his head. It made him think he could act like a douchebag and this kid needed to be reminded of his place. And needed to be reminded that he couldn't mess with Blaine Anderson and get away with it._

_Cutting off the stupid boy's laughter, Blaine lunged at him. He shoved him hard against the closed lockers- the boy's chest colliding with metal. "Hey-!" the boy yelped out. _

_"You gotta learn to watch your tongue, boy," he sneered at him, pulling him back by his collar before slamming his head into the metal once again- hard. _

_People in the hall stopped to stare, gaping at the scene for a moment. But none of them interfered. At least until two of the senior quarterbacks pushed their way through the crowd, grabbing at Blaine's jacket and prying him off the boy before tossing him to the floor- but by this point the boy's nose was bleeding profusely and defiantly looked broken. _


	2. Chapter 1

I do not own Glee. Glee is property of Fox and Ryan Murphy.

Also on my Scarves and Coffee and Livejournal.

My tumblr is Katuriin.

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Playlist for Chapter 1

1. Pepper – The Butthole Surfers

2. Viva La Vida – Nellie (Coldplay Cover)

Blaine frowned as he adjusted the name badge they had given him. _I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. _The phrase repeated in his head over and over like a chant. Thankfully, they didn't force him into some stupid red and white striped outfit. They handed him a lanyard that read 'My name is Blaine and I'm your little ray of sunshine today.' Fuck that shit. Blaine was no one's ray of sunshine. If anything, he was the rain cloud.

He was forced to meet up with a 'veteran volunteer'. She was described to him as eighteen and full of energy. With just that description, he imagined a bubbly blonde cheerleader type trying to get an outstanding amount of community service hours on her transcript. Apparently she had been volunteering as a Striper since she was of age; thirteen. As he rounded on the nurse's station in the wing he was assigned to, he saw a girl laughing next to a male nurse. She was standing too close to just be talking to him while toying innocently with a lock of her hair. Blaine wouldn't have thought twice about it if she didn't have a lanyard similar to his own. _Fucking peachy. _His image had been off. She was only a little taller than him, which was a feat even for females. She had waist length brown hair and she held herself with a posture that made him not even want to associate with her. And don't get Blaine started on that nose.

He gave a heavy sigh and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and approached her. As he got beside her, she wrinkled her nose and turned to him. She no doubt smelled the cigarette smoke that seemed to be permanently infused into his jacket. But she soon replaced her expression with a large, obnoxious smile. "Oh! You must be Blaine Anderson! I'm so excited to be working with someone, you know, my age. The last person I worked with was probably older than this building and by the time I had visited everyone on this wing, she was just getting to her first patient." She ran a hand through her long, brown hair- Blaine had a feeling she did that a lot. "Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rachel Barbara Berry. And yes, my middle name is a reference to the goddess herself, Barbara Streisand. " She held out a hand for Blaine to shake. He quirked an eyebrow at her name tag. Instead of being typed like his own name, her name looked hand written with a golden star sticker below it.

Blaine's eyes fell to her hand for a moment before moving back up to look at her face, "Pleasure, Berry. Let's just get this shit over with so I can go home." He didn't move his hands from where they were cocooned in his jacket pockets.

Rachel frowned, moving her hands to rest on her hips as she cocked one to the side. "That is no way to speak to a_ lady_, Mr. Anderson," she told him with narrowed eyes, drawing out the word 'lady' with a flick of her tongue. "You've got an attitude problem and you need to check it at the door because these patients do not need to deal with your foul mouth on top of their illnesses." As she finished, she prodded a finger into his chest, as if trying to make her point further. He frowned deeply, looking down at her finger on his chest. He reached down and merely pushed her hand away from his chest and took a step back.

"Whatever," he mumbled, straightening his jacket out from where she jabbed him, looking around the hospital with an unreadable expression. "Just tell me what I'm doing so that I can get it over with."

She sighed, rolling her eyes at him before glaring at him for a moment longer. Finally she spoke again, "I'll start you out small for the first week. I'll give you rooms 1130 through 1134. In order that's Bree, age eight, Kathleen, age eleven, Tyler, age thirteen, and Kurt, age eighteen."

He gave a small scoff, "What am I supposed to do? Go in there and tell them how a magical unicorn is going come in make everything all better?" he asked her, his voice slightly bitter as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"_No,"_ she told him in a sharp voice, "None of these patients are stupid. No matter their age, they know they're sick. They know they could be dying- and a stupid rebel like you isn't going to go in and mock their illness. You're going to go in and keep them company. I don't know- maybe actually smile. Make their hellish time here a little more bearable for at least half an hour."

Blaine gave a heavy, measured sigh. No one talked to him like that. Well, no one talked to him like that more than once. But he held his tongue and chewed on his bottom lip. "Fine," he said, turning on his heel suddenly. "Fine."

-/-

He ran a hand over his hair with a deep sigh, being reminded how much he really didn't want to be here. He sucked it up and knocked on the door of the first person, Bree. A bright, but tired sounding voice answered, "Come in!"

Blaine pushed the door open, peering in. On the bed lay a girl that, if he wasn't told her age, he would've placed to be able five. Her cheeks bones were too prominent to be healthy and he could probably easily fit both of his hands around her waist. Her skin was pale and her head was bald, the light catching on it as she turned towards the door. But, what caught his attention the most was her wide, blue eyes and her wide grin. How the fuck was she so happy in a place like this and the condition she looked to be in?

"Hi!" she greeted with a small giggle, holding up the hand that was attached to the IV, "I've never seen you before. You must be the new candy striper! My name is Bree! I love making new friends!"

This was going to be a long day. He slipped his jacket off to drape it over the chair before he plopped into it. "Oh!" she said, her voice suddenly having a renewed wonder to it that only a child's could hold, "Is that a leather jacket? I _love _leather jackets. My parents always said they would buy me one, but we don't have enough money so I stopped asking. I don't like the look Mama gives me when she has to tell me no over money…" she trailed off for a minute as she looked away, but then brightened once more, "But your jacket is nice! Can I look at it?"

Blaine, who had not spoken since they he had been in the room, made a slight face. It's not as if he thought he could catch anything she had, which was obviously some form of cancer, but it just slightly appalled him to think of a sick little girl drooling over his jacket that he had had for years. "No… it's… old. It's kind of falling apart and needs to be handled gently," he said in a blunt voice, looking away from her to rub at his neck.

She frowned, "Oh, okay. I understand. I'm sorry for asking."

-/-

The next two children he visited went about the same way; them trying to introduce themselves and Blaine bluntly shooting them down. One more room to go. He frowned before raising his fist to knock on the door. "It's open," the voice from inside answered, almost before his knuckles even made contact with the wood. He furrowed his brow slightly before walking in.

The boy in the room was, unlike the other three patients he visited, wearing normal clothing. Well, if you could justify what he was wearing as 'normal'. The designer clothes screamed 'gay' at him and he would've guessed he had on at least four layers. And that was just the top half. _Let's get this over with, Anderson. _

He sighed and walked over to the bed, plopping down in the chair. Kurt, as he remembered from Rachel talking to him, was sitting up in his bed, typing away at a laptop in his lap. His legs were crossed under him and he barely showed any recognition that Blaine was in the room for a moment. At least, until he spoke, "Where's Rachel?" he asked, then closing the computer and looking over at Blaine. His nose wrinkled in quite the same way Rachel's had when she first caught whiff of Blaine.

"Don't know. Don't worry about it. I'll sit over here and be quiet like I don't exist. I'm required to do this shit- better than juvie."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Oh, you're one of _those_ guys," he groaned, reaching for his computer once more, "Can you at least go sit on the other side of the room? You smell like death- and I'm the one sitting in a hospital dying." He pointed to a plastic chair that was positioned by the bathroom door.

Blaine gave Kurt a look for a moment before shaking his head, "Don't start with me."

"Why would I want to start _anything _with you?" he asked with a disgusted expression, "As if I need to add more to my list of life regrets. I'd rather not have a dingy, tacky wannabe as the last thing I lay eyes on before I die, thank you very much." He gave him a judgmental once over. "_This, _I'd rather not take to the grave."

Blaine crossed his arms, glaring at him. Tacky? Wannabe? "You've got a mouth on you, haven't you? Why don't you play hide and go fuck yourself?" Okay, so not his most clever retort, but it worked.

Kurt snorted, opening the computer with a shake of his head; "It'd still be better than talking to a walking cigarette."

Blaine didn't respond, but clearly showed his discontentment as his lips narrowed into a thin line.

"I see you've been introduced to Blaine, Kurt," a voice that made Blaine groan internally chirp from the door. "What do you think?" He turned to see Rachel standing in the doorway.

"I think I'd rather go ahead and die than chat with him- but thanks for asking, sweetie."

The next six months were going to suck major balls.


End file.
